ASG: Being the tale of an OC
by Maidenhair
Summary: Not all OCs are Mary Sues! See for yourself!


**ASG: Being the tale of an OC**

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO.

**I.**

Here I am, sitting in a dark, dank lair. Next to me is Erik. He's standing, stunned, rubbing the bite wounds I inflicted on his arm. He deserved it.

I feel pretty alone now. After all these years, I finally realize that I may have misjudged those whom I have names as my friends. Take Erik, for example; I think he hates me.

I suppose that I'm just not the sort of girl Erik likes. For one thing, I can't sing. Perhaps it is because I live off of a steady diet of cheese, red wine, and cigars. However, I am more inclined to think that it is because I am completely tone deaf. This does not stop me from singing, though. I like to sing, so why should I stop just because I sound like a rusty drain? I sing whenever I get the chance.

The interesting part about my singing is my vocal range. I may miss every note in the book and sing out of my nose, but I have an incredible range of bad notes I can hit. I have s squeaking, falsetto soprano, a nasally mezzo-soprano, a flat alto, a breathy contralto, a whining tenor, a scratchy baritone, and a bull-frog bass. Because of this miraculously large range, I have innumerable songs to mutilate. I think that peeves Erik.

Another thing about me that Erik probably does not find attractive is my dancing. I can't dance. I dance like I sing. And, since I am usually dancing while I am singing, I think that the effect has proven to be a bit much for Erik's delicate nerves.

I also have no sense of fashion. Erik is very much a fashion bug, a fop if I ever saw one. He's always in a spiffy tuxedo, all the time, even when he sleeps. Top it with a hat, a bowtie, a silk cape, gilded cufflinks, a collection of three hundred sixty-five masks (one for each day of the year), and shiny shoes, he makes quite a fashion statement. Why, he even has designer wear spats! You have to see the spats to appreciate them, they're very expensive looking.

My sense of fashion is less advanced in its growth. Make that stunted. Or dead. You see, my idea of a nice outfit usually consist of stripes and polka dots. I know they look dreadful together, but I think it has a unique statement to tell. And they're my security patterns. However, even when I try hard I have no fashion taste; hence, the reason for my mismatched socks. But who would be looking at my socks right now? I'm dressed in a barber-poll skirt, a dairy-cow bodice, and I have aqua ribbons in my hair. I will not even mention what my jewelry and shoes look like, because you would immediately flee for your sanity.

Erik probably does not care for my looks, either. One would think that a living corpse would care less about looks, but that is not the case. Erik is very visual. He likes little chorus girls with hourglass figures. I am a tall, overly skinny girl no figure at all. Besides that, I have pasty skin, freckles, and rather large ears. My feet are a size sixteen to boot. Well, not to boot, I don't fit into many boots.

However, despite my feet and features, I think Erik just hates my hair. I don't have hair like Christine's; luxurious, blond, smelling like soap. I have hair like a mad scientist. It's a thick, fire-red, frazzled mass of curls and split ends. But I don't care; I like it. Christine's hair is dime a dozen amidst the models. Not many have my kind of hair.

Along with my looks, Erik probably isn't too keen on my counter-cultural ways. I think I've scared him. Most of this has to do with things beyond my control, but he seems to think me pets are a freakish lot.

Erik likes animals, to be sure, but when he found out that I live in a small apartment with a goat, a horse, several ducks and geese, two dogs, a cat, a hyena, and a tarantula names Sebastine, he decided that I was just a little strange for his liking. When he saw the bass in the bathtub he really flipped. I said that he should accumulate a large amount of pets, too. I said that they helped me in reaching inner peace. He said they helped me smell like guano day in and day out. Rude, unfriendly man! He has anger venting issues, too, because he tied me to a weight and threw me in his lake. I knew it was just a form of self expression, however, and I simply slipped out of the cords and went home.

Well, now you may ask, what am I doing in Erik's lair and why did I bite him? You may also ask, how do I know Erik?

I'll answer the second question first.

I first met Erik when I was a little girl at the fair. I had finished performing a strange act, the Human Boomerang, and I was dancing and singing my Umpty Dumpty Oppers song. My already large pack of animal companions was with me, and we were all covered head to toe in dirt and some other filth that I will not mention.

Suddenly, we saw a boy in a cage. He was so ugly that he was adorable, and I squealed. "Ah! You look like you need a big hug!" I said. Then, reaching through the bars, I hugged him. However, he banged his head against the cage and got a bloody lip.

And, that was how I met Erik.

From then on our paths did cross. The next time we met was when I went to Persia on a mission to petition that they change the county's name to Iraq. The petitioners had grown tired, so we started a taffy pull and introduced the native's to sticky, sugary candy that stays on your teeth for weeks before wearing away.

In the middle of the pull, I noticed someone. "Hey! Hey you!" I cried, "Hey you in the dark cloak and mask! Yeah! You! You mysterious person who is sneaking up on that man who people want to assassinate!"

And that was how we met again.

Unfortunately, Erik did not want to be my taffy-pull partner. He ran away muttering something like: "Oh! Not her again!" He must have seen someone he didn't like.

Later we met in a jungle someplace. I had decided to take Sebastine to the rainforest to meet other large spiders. My more adventurous animals came with me. My horse loved running about in the dense undergrowth and my goat found some rare orchids to snack on.

Just as I was about to make friends with an adorable python, Erik came crashing though the flora. I playfully put out my arm and tripped him into a pile of capybara poo.

"Wha…" Erik cried, "Oh! No! It's you!"

I smiled and patted Erik's head.

"Hi!" I said, "Let's be friends. My name is Angelica Seraphima Gabriella, but that's a stupid name. So, you can call me ASG, huh? You're Erik, right? You're cute! I like rice and beans!"

"I… I'm being pursued," Erik gasped.

"Huh?" I asked.

Suddenly a hoard of warriors came crashing towards us.

"Aw! You made some friends!" I said happily.

However, his friends seemed to have some anger venting issues. They picked him up and drug him away.

Later that day I found Erik tied to a stick over an unlighted pyre.

"Oh, dear," I said, "You and your friends couldn't talk it over?"

"Get me out of here!" was all Erik could say.

I managed to get him off of the pyre, but I could not untie him. I've never been good with knots.

So, I let him ride my horse, since his hands and feet were tied together. He had to share with my goat, though, and Sebastine road on his head. But, in all, I think he was fine.

Things went well for a few hours, but then I somehow got us lost and we ended up in the middle of a desert. Since I know nothing about geography, I have no idea where we were, but I knew we were lost because I thought we were in the Amazon and the bones of the people on the ground looked like Arabs.

Well, I decided to use my head and get us out of this. Erik was just cussing at me. He became especially nasty when I started my Ippy Skippy song and dance routine. Well, I resolved to find a nomadic settlement and see if anyone could untie knots. That way, I thought, Erik could vent his energy in a constructive matter.

However, my plans were laid to waste when a great sandstorm started. I managed to save my animals, but Erik got lost, somehow, and we were forced to leave him for dead.

I was very happy to meet Erik again when I visited Belgium. He must have been happy too, because he started screaming and tearing his hair out as soon as he saw me.

Later on, we met at Paris:

"Hi, Erik! I'm going to be your partner in building this opera!"

"Gack! Gax! Bu…bu…wha.. ah!"

I think Erik was so happy to see me that he suffered from massive cardiac arrest. (Actually, I have no reason to believe that that was what happened, but it's fun to say). Anyway, he passed out. So, I did what anyone would do, and gave him mouth to mouth resuscitation. It worked because he jumped about fifteen feet into the air, screaming.

I think we were pretty good friends at that time.

Later, however, when we were working on the foyer, something bad happened in out relationship.

He was giving commands, and then, I gave him a noogie. He took it badly and fell through a hole in the floor. Before I could react, about three hundred workers sealed him in alive. Despite the fact that I heard them say, "Yes! Got rid of him, the bossy, oppressive capitalist!" I think that they did it by accident. Regardless, I had no choice but to leave him for dead… again.

More later…


End file.
